


Nothing is Normal Anymore

by superwholockatthechemicalboy



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Anxiety, Daddy Issues, Depression, Drinking, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Possible suicide maybe?, Ryden, THROAM inspired, brallon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:49:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superwholockatthechemicalboy/pseuds/superwholockatthechemicalboy
Summary: Most people grow up in a community. I didn’t. We didn’t talk to our neighbours and they didn’t talk to us. We weren’t an unusual family or anything, there just wasn’t a community. Three doors down lived my closest friend but I never got to see him outside of school. Our parents didn’t like each other. No one in the area liked each other. The people who lived in our town were the richest of the rich, too elite to talk to anyone, too cool to have emotion, too important to have fun. Maybe that’s the reason I am the way I am now.





	1. Chapter 1

 

When I was 10, I used to ride to and from school on my bike. Hot wind would blow my hair back as I zoomed along the dry Las Vegas streets. Those bike rides home were some of the few times I ever felt truly free. Then a private bus route was put in place to escort the rich kids to and from school. Of course my parents made sure I caught it. It cost an obscene amount of money to get a place on it but my mother and father wanted the very best for me. Or they said they did. For two days, I cried about it. For a week I complained about it. For a month I resented my parents for trapping me in their plan to make themselves look good. I think that was the point where I stopped caring about what happens around me.

I had friends all the way through school, but none of them stayed with me for very long except one boy. His name was Spencer Smith and he was the only genuine person I knew. Everyone was nice enough but you couldn’t ever have a real conversation with them. You’d chat to a guy for half an hour about going to a football game you both knew you had no interest in seeing. No, Spencer was different. He cared about things. He’d describe a bird he saw the other day in vivid detail just because he thought it was interesting. To others, this made him weird and almost dangerous but to me he was exciting. He was enthusiastic about everything and everyone knew it. He had long mud-coloured hair with a fringe that covered his light brown sparkling eyes. He was constantly pushing school limits for one thing or another, from not shaving his face to wearing the wrong uniform on the wrong day. But although he scared a lot of people, he attracted me, and it was Spencer who taught me how to live again.

 

\---

  

I tried desperately to flatten my hair down in the cracked mirror above the grimy old sink. I knew there was no point, my hair doesn’t behave. I was wearing a dark green vest over a long white sleeved shirt, long dark grey jeans and an ugly pink and green tie with roses on it. I walked out of the disgusting old bathroom and into my bedroom. A small single bed lied in the corner near the window, letting in early morning rays of sunshine. A faded blue chest of drawers lied opposite the bed, clashing horribly with the yellow and orange striped wallpaper. I grabbed my shabby briefcase and walked out into the kitchen where a familiar face is making breakfast.

“Hi Ry,” said a deep voice cheerily.

“Hey Spence,” I replied back, trying desperately to hide the excitement in my voice.

“Calm down mate,” he said, but he’s grinning like a lunatic.

He offered me a plate of eggs but I couldn’t eat. Not today. I shook my head and he made a face of faux sadness.

“More for me then,” he said, wolfing them down.

Spencer ate more when he’s nervous. We really were different. He ate extra and I couldn’t eat anything. My stomach was full of butterflies anyway.

“I’ve packed the car with our stuff,” he told me, which was code for ‘I’ve stuffed every possible space in the car with charts and posters because I can’t be bothered to spend 10 minutes packing it properly.’

What we were trying to sell exactly I wasn’t sure. Spencer and I both had an uncanny knack for technology. Basically, we were trying to sell ourselves. We were applying for an unpaid internship at Apple. Roughly, a thousand people apply every year and only eight are accepted. Then out of those eight, one is chosen to work at Apple. The chance of us both getting the job is impossible. Yet here we were.

 

I walked out and sat in the passenger seat, trying to stop my leg from shaking. This was our first big chance. I liked to think that Spencer and I were revolutionaries but ask anyone else and they’d tell you we were crazy. Spencer and I by day were salespeople, knocking on doors trying to sell anything, from a new fridge to a new religion to earn just enough cash to pay the rent for the dumpy apartment we were staying in. It was hard living like this, sometimes we couldn’t get enough gigs and were forced to eat boiled noodles and soup for a month. At those times, I seriously considered giving up and going back home. I’m glad Spencer kept me in check though. One of the benefits of living with a minimal amount of money is that we were clever enough not to spend it on drugs or alcohol. Spencer hopped into the driver’s seat and kicked the car into motion. It was an old Toyota that we had spent ages to save up for and bought second hand. It worked fine for two weeks but now we’re lucky if it drives for more than 10 miles before shutting down. We drove around the back of an enormous building and pulled into a small parking spot. We bundled everything we could under our arms and marched inside. Suddenly we found ourselves standing in front of two bored-looking people who introduced themselves briefly as Eva and Ian. Eva had short brown hair pinned neatly back behind her ears and wore a suit that looked a few sizes too large while Ian had an unshaven face and was slightly sweaty. Yet despite that, they were still very professional.

 

Ian and Eva led us to an interview room and we sat on opposite sides of a desk. Ian fished a stopwatch out of a drawer.

“You have one minute to talk. No more, no less.” Eva frowned, as if we were inconveniencing her by being there.

I took a deep breath and began, “Hi, my name’s Ryan. Ryan Ross. And, erm, this is my friend – I mean associate – Spencer. I think we can change the world.”

I unrolled a chart and handed it to Spencer.

“Apple needs new ideas right? Of course it does, innovation is the key to success. Based on the algorithms I have drawn up, you see, Apple could capitalise more if it paid more attention to accessibility rather than flashy gadgets that only apply to a specific market. And then…”

Eva made an odd hissing noise and cut me off rather abruptly.

“Your friend here, does he have a voice?” she asked, pointing at Spencer.

“Yes, of course,” I stammered.

I took the chart off Spencer silently.

“Apple Incorporated was started by a man with a dream,” began Spencer confidently, “Without a doubt, Steve Jobs was a visionary and he successfully made his visions a reality. I have lived my entire life inspired by the pure magic of his creations. There is really no more I can say. This internship is worth more than my own life and I think it should go to someone who displays the qualities which made Steve Jobs the amazing man he was.”

Spencer stepped back and I rolled up the chart. Both Eva and Ian began whispering quickly to each other. Ian then stood up.

“I’d like to thank you both for coming. If we choose you, we will give you a call. If we don’t, we won’t. Simple as that. _Au revoir!”_


	2. Chapter 2

Walking out of the interview room, I became aware of my shaking hands. Was I that nervous? We piled all our stuff back into the car. It irritated me that we didn’t even have time to use it. Spencer started the engine and we sped off. We stopped at a nearby gas station to refill the tank.

“Can you pay today Ry?” Spencer asked.

“I always pay. It’s your car,” I grumbled angrily.

“Yeah well that’s because you haven’t even got a driver’s license. Call it your taxi fare if you like,” he chuckled.

I fished around in the glove box for my wallet. Then I checked my pockets. Then I checked the backseat.

“Spence, I’ve lost my wallet.”

“That won’t work on me Ryan, please just go up and pay.”

“I’m not kidding Spencer! Turn the car around, let’s go back.”

“Not enough gas. Just head up to that payphone over there, call the company and ask if they have seen it.”

“Buy some gas and let’s turn around!” I shouted exasperatedly, “My wallet has everything. Someone could be stealing my identity right now!”

Without Spencer, I think I would go crazy. He always knows what to do. He jumped out of the car and into the station. I saw him borrow a woman’s phone. He made a 5 minute call, gave the woman a $10 note and came back to me, grinning from ear to ear.

“Someone picked it up off the floor and handed it into Lost & Found. They will send someone round to drop it off tomorrow. But that’s not all they said. Ry, I got the internship! They said they knew immediately that I was right for the job.”

I felt like someone had shoved a stone down my throat. I tried to smile, but I’m sure it looked more like a grimace. In a constricted voice, I managed a “Congratulations,” and was immediately ashamed. I should be happy for him; he just has something I obviously do not. But this is his moment.

“I’m sorry mate, I’m sure there’ll be other experiences for you out there,” he said good-heartedly.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, somehow more cheerily.

 

The next morning I was woken by the smell of coffee. I stumbled out of my room and into the kitchen. Spencer handed me a plate of toast and a cup of hot coffee.

“Gotta go pick up a suit for my new job,” he said jubilantly.

I was tempted to shoot him down, say that he doesn’t actually have a job, but I held my tongue. Being bitter would not help anyone.  I waved him off with a smile and didn’t relax my face until I heard the car leave. I finished my breakfast, which tasted funny, but maybe that was just what jealousy did. A ring from the doorbell brought me to my senses. I jumped up; it was probably just Spencer who had forgotten something.

 

I opened it slowly, still lethargic from just waking up. A pair of deep, dark brown eyes were staring at me from a young face.

“Sweet shop’s that way kid,” I snapped, closing the door.

He stuck his hand in to stop me closing it completely.

“Ow!” he yelped.

I had tried to shut it with a lot more force than I had intended. I quickly opened it again.

“Sorry kid, I’m not trying to buy anything,” I said as kindly as I could manage, feeling slightly annoyed now at this intrusion to my morning.

“I’m not selling anything and I’m not a kid,” he said haughtily.

“You are a kid, you don’t look a day over 18,” I snapped, “and if you’re not selling anything then why are you here?”

“I’m 21 if you want to know,” he huffed, “and I was sent here to bring the resident of this address his wallet. If that’s not you then I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh, right, yeah that’s mine,” I said meekly. My cheeks feel hot from embarrassment.

“Hey listen, come inside for a bit,” I offered, “I didn’t mean to be so rude, I just have had a rough day.”

“It’s only nine in the morning,” he said quietly, but accepted my offer.

 

I made two cups of coffee for us. I was unaccustomed to having someone other than Spencer in my house. I wasn’t good at making friends. Nevertheless, he seemed grateful for the drink. He had soft dark brown hair that one could mistake for black. His eyes were so huge and dark that it was impossible to comprehend that he was only a year younger than I was.

“Hi, er, what’s your name?” I asked, just finding something to break the silence.

“Brendon,” he said timidly.

“Ok, well I’m Ryan,” I said as cheerily as I could, “but my friends call me Ry. And by friends, I only really have one. And he’s gone for a bit. You got friends?”

_Of course he has friends._ Well done Ryan, you have offended yet another person.

“Not here,” he said slowly, “I had some back in Utah, but yeah, not since I moved here,”

“What brings you to California then? All we have to offer is shitty beaches and tall buildings.”

“Well actually, I left home three years ago. Since then I have lived in a bunch of places, never staying anywhere for more than a couple of months. I’ve only been here for about a week and I guess sometime soon I’ll go find somewhere else.”

“But don’t you ever want to find somewhere to live forever.”

“I guess. If I ever find the right person, the right community, somewhere where I don’t have to hide anything from anyone,” he said simply.

“What do you have to hide?”

Brendon went quiet, eyes focused on the inside of the cup.

“Where do you work?” I asked, tactfully changing the subject.

“I work at a music shop downtown,” he said, eyes lighting up with enthusiasm and obvious love for his job.

“How does a music shop lead you to be delivering wallets?” I joked.

“Today’s my day off, my flatmate asked me to run a couple of errands for him today. He’s a courier,” he added, interpreting the blank look on my face correctly.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, standing up suddenly.

“Oh, no problem,” I assured him, “the least I could do after slamming your hand in a door,”

He smiled at me, the first time he had actually smiled since we met, and I was amazed at how white his teeth were.

“Want to catch up again sometime?” I found myself asking as he made his way out the front door.

He stopped to look at me. His eyes searched my face, as if looking for a facial expression to give away my motives for such nicety.

“Sure,” he said, somewhat suspiciously.

“I just thought,” I stuttered, “I just thought that seeing as you don’t really have friends here yet, me and my friend could take you out to see the sights. Sound ok?"

"Yeah," he nodded. 

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, scribbled down a number and pressed it into my hand.

"Call me ok?" he said, then walked out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

That afternoon when Spencer returned I told him all about Brendon. He seemed genuinely interested in meeting him, which was a relief for me. I will admit I was concerned about Spencer objecting to someone I'd just met. This meeting had completely dissolved my jealousy and now I could fully be happy for Spencer. He showed me his new suit, which I almost laughed at; managing to hold my tongue when I realised how excited about it he was. It included a clean pressed white shirt, a black tie and black leather pants. He looked like an inner city idiot, the kind we used to go out on weekends and laugh at. 

"Suits you mate," I said, lying through my teeth.

"Thanks Ry," he said.

A hint of hesitation was present in his voice. Anyone else would miss it but I'd known him long enough to recognise it. 

"What's up?" I urged.

"Nothing," he said shortly, clearly not wanting to go into any detail.

"Ok fine don't tell me," I said slowly.

I know when Spencer doesn't want to tell me something, and I know how to make him. Disinterest is key.

"Ok, I know you don't want to think about this," he began, "but I can't work while I'm doing the internship. So you will need to earn money for the both of us. I'll pay you back as soon as I have the money again, but I need you to do this now."

I couldn't pretend I hadn't given the matter any thought. But I had just figured that he would find a job outside of his intern hours. 

"Spence, we hardly earn enough to live here between the two of us. It's just impossible." 

"No Ryan, it's not. You're a lot smarter than you think. You'll get a job. If in a week, we still have no luck then we'll reconsider our options. But you need to try."

I nodded numbly. Job-hunting wasn't fun and if I planned on eating ever again I'd have to act soon. I packed myself a backpack and traipsed to the local internet cafe to type myself out a resume. All eight computers were being used so I sat in the waiting line and pulled out my notebook. I began doodling absent-mindedly. A fish drowning on a beach. Or was it suffocating? Fish can't drown, can they? I drew a crowd watching, taking photos and pointing then I drew a small boy crouching next to it, trying to save it. I was the fish and I was drowning. Or was I suffocating? I was helpless, anything I did was futile, I couldn't do anything. And the crowd stared, broadcasting my insignificance to the world. I realised that my hope lied in the arms of this boy. This boy with soft hair and dark eyes. Could he save me? 

One of the computers became available and I rushed over. I quickly typed up the long list of short jobs I had done over the 7 year time period since I left home. An outstanding amount of jobs, yet never one that stuck. I printed off 20 copies, hoping that it was enough yet knowing that I couldn't afford to print more. I headed over to a payphone across the road and fished the paper Brendon had given me yesterday out of my pocket. The dialling tone trilled in my ear as I rang it up. 

"Gerard's Records, how may we help you?" came a bored-sounding voice on the other end.

"Hi, is this Brendon?" I asked tentatively.

"No," came a blunt reply.

"Does a Brendon work here?" I asked slowly, feeling embarrassed that I didn't even know a last name to identify him by.

"Yeah, hang on," replied the man, "OI DREAMER BOY, YEAH, THERE'S A CALL FOR YOU."

"Hello?" came a small voice on the other end.

"Brendon?" I asked, trying to confirm that I was really speaking to him now.

"Oh Ryan, hi." he said in a relieved voice, "I was worried it might have been someone else."

"I need a favour, kind of..." I began.

"Listen, I've got to get back to work, I'm sorry I can't talk," he said loudly, cutting me off.

I admit I was confronted by the abrupt answer and rudeness. He began talking quietly again.

"I'm not meant to use the work phone for social calls," he explained quickly, "so just speak fast, whatever you were going to say."

"When do you get off work?"

"About 4pm, why?"

"You know that park down the road from the huge hotel? Do you think you could meet me at around six? I kinda need a favour and I think you can help me."

"Sure, ok. See you then." he said, hanging up the phone.

And as I hung up the line on the other end, I wondered in amazement at the butterflies that had appeared in my stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure which direction this is going in, but stay tuned. I also really value feedback so don't be afraid to voice your opinions/ideas.


	4. Chapter 4

I sat awkwardly on a small wooden bench in the park. My watch told me that it was 10 past 6. I kicked a seed pod that was lying on the ground. A shiver crept up my neck and I wished I'd brought a jacket. It sure was cold for this time of year. A further ten minutes passed and I lost all feeling in my toes. Was I not clear in my instructions? Maybe he just forgot. Either way, it doesn't really matter. Besides, he probably got distracted by some hot girl he passed in the street. I remember my college days, when Spencer and I would get distracted by any cute female that passed in our general direction. I reminded myself that he wasn't a college student though. He was only a year younger, yet infinitely more youthful. I stood up and began making my way to the hotel, where I could be sure of some company.

I stepped into the warm, brightly lit hotel and made my way to the bar, open to the public. I pulled up a bar stool and began making light conversation with the friendly bartender. He poured me a whiskey and I felt slightly guilty for spending the little money that Spencer and I had.  
"You don't come here often," said the bartender intuitively.  
I nodded my head, glad of the warmth that was slowly spreading through me from the alcohol. Then I spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Slowly I made my way over to Brendon, half wanting to give him hell for making me wait in the cold and half wanting to talk to him about what I had originally planned. He was chatting jovially to a tall man in the corner of the room. As I got closer, I began to hear parts of their conversation.  
"Yeah," said Brendon enthusiastically, "that'd be great."  
"You want to come with me now?" asked the man in a low voice.  
The man stepped closer to Brendon and rested a hand on his hip. I watched I wanted to intervene, to tell this pervert to leave him alone; then I saw Brendon reciprocate the gesture. They were getting closer to each other. Faces inches from each other. Suddenly all desire to talk to Brendon evaporated. I turned on my heel and walked out of the hotel, leaving my half-drunk whiskey on a nearby table. I walked home in silence, wind whipping around me. Yet the long trek gave me time to think. Of course he was gay! It made so much sense - the constant moving around, the secret to hide, the lack of friends and the leaving home so early. I couldn't let him know that I knew. I'd call tomorrow and invite him over for dinner with me and Spencer. Then he would tell me about this. 'That sounds like a absolutely flawless plan,' I thought sarcastically to myself as I walked in the front door of my house. Spencer called out to me from his room, but I ignored him. I had better things to worry about.

The following day, I dropped off nineteen resumes off at different places around the city. But I was saving one. That morning I had looked up Gerard's Records and found the address. I had my actions all planned out. I would wander in, planning to drop in a resume, run into Brendon, then invite him over for dinner. I walked in the front door and my ears were greeted with Nirvana playing over the loudspeaker. The shop was dimly lit and it was hard to find a single space (save the roof) that wasn't covered in records. A man in a black apron appeared to my left. He had a name tag that read 'S. Valdes" and he stood in a comfortable slouch.  
"Can I help you?" he asked lazily.  
"Yes, thanks," I said awkwardly, "I'm looking to apply for a job here. Can I talk to the manager?"  
"Come with me."  
I followed him around the back of the shop. This place had pretty good records. I made a mental note to come back later. He stopped me outside a small office with the label 'B. Wilson - Store Manager.' I understood why. I could hear yelling coming from the inside.  
"Late again! I don't accept this type of behaviour from my employees!" yelled a harsh voice which I recognised from the phone call the day before.   
"It's the last time, I promise," pleaded the other man.   
The voice was Brendon's - I knew it immediately.   
"Alright Urie, but this is the last time I tolerate this kind of behaviour." Mr Wilson relented.  
Brendon stepped out of the office. I expected him to say hello to me, but he didn't react. Instead he grabbed 'S. Valdes' and pulled him into a big hug.  
"I got us tickets Shane!" yelled Brendon happily.  
"Hey that's great!" said Shane.   
Without even a glance at me, he picked up a bunch of loose records off a pile and took them out to the front.  
"What do you have tickets to?" I asked Shane curiously.   
"Dodgers game," he replied.  
"I support the Dodgers," I said, not really thinking about it much.

 

I was remembering a game I went to when I was six. My father had taken me. He was drunk, stumbling around the top box seats. I asked him to buy me a cap and he gave the vendor a $100 bill. He was so disgustingly rich that he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. I remember when he groped the pretty woman sitting next to him. "Girls like it," he told me, laughing with a satisfied air. My father taught me his views on women. House-workers, sex toys and baby-minders. That was all they were good for. I had wondered often if my mother really loved him. I always thought my father was amazing. But of course I did - he was my dad. Looking back on it now, I understand he was a alcoholic idiot but I never knew any different. As I grew up, more cracks started appearing and I caught him sleeping with the maid. He was in a constantly drunk state all the time. My mother wouldn't even look at him. However, for all the suffering that happened on the inside, we were still a model family on the outside. And the pressure was suffocating me. Since I left home, I swore I would never be like him. I forced myself to think back to the game. It was a good game; we won of course, but what more could you expect? The Dodgers were the best team in the league 15 years ago. I haven't seen them play since.   


"Sorry man, we don't have any spare tickets," said Shane sympathetically.  
"Nah, it's ok," I said cheerfully, "there'll always be other games."  
Shane nodded understandingly. He opened the door to the office and encouraged me through. I took a deep breath and looked at the man peering down the end of his nose at me.  
"And how may I help you sir?" asked Mr Wilson calmly.

I left the interview with a smile on my face and a black apron around my waist. I spotted Shane behind a teetering shelf of "Classical Orchestra."   
"Hey, I was told you could fix me a name tag?" I said.  
"You got the job!" he smiled, very different from the unenthusiastic sales assistant I mistook him for earlier. He asked for my driver's license to make the name tag.  
"Yeah, I know!" I said jovially, "You know this is my first ever job where I earn a wage?"  
"No way!" gasped Shane, "That's wild! Oy Bren! Come over here, there's a new guy in your section."  
Brendon appeared from behind a precarious looking pile of band posters. He was humming to himself and I vaguely recognised the tune. I was pretty sure it was Sinatra but I wasn't sure. He had a pencil tucked behind his ear and a light coat of dust covering him.

Shane pinned the tag to my apron and looked at his work with distinct pride. Brendon came up to us and stared at me for a second. Then realisation dawned on his face.  
"Ryan!" he said cheerily but then his face fell, "I'm sorry I forgot to come to the park. I was going to..."  
I cut him off quickly.  
"It's fine, happens all the time. People have commitments - I get it." I said as calmly as I could, trying not to give away what I knew.   
"Yeah well, maybe we can work out another time,"   
"I was just going to ask you about maybe getting a job here," I said truthfully.  
"Oh right," laughed Brendon.  
"Well seeing as we all know each other, let's go get pizza when the shift ends!" suggested Shane.  
I nodded my head in agreement with the plan when Brendon shook his head.  
"I have practice tonight. I've already missed two this month." he said sadly.  
Upon seeing my puzzled face, Shane added, "He's in a band."  
"Not much of a band," said Brendon miserably, "It's me and this guy - Jon. He plays bass guitar and I sing and drum and play the other guitars plus any keyboard sections."  
"Oh, I see," I said.   
"Do you play anything?" he asked hopefully.  
I shook my head  
"I played the clarinet in high school, but I doubt you're looking for that," I joked.  
"Wait, so you can read sheet music?" he asked, his face lighting up.  
"Yeah, I guess,"   
"Then I'll teach you how to play guitar. It's easy if you can read notes."  
I looked at him, expecting to see his eyes crinkled up in a laugh but he looked dead serious.  
"I'll try," I said slowly, "But don't hate me if I'm bad. And I can only do things in between my very busy schedule of this job and doing nothing."   
Shane and Brendon laughed.  
"Practice is at 7 at my apartment."  
Brendon handed me a piece of paper with his address on it. I took it and nodded. A loud 'Back to Work!' from Mr Wilson sent us back to tidying the incredibly messy shelves but I realised I was actually happier than I had been in a long time. 


End file.
